


silence, patience, anticipation

by k0skareeves



Series: sacred moments [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Kiss, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jealousy, Jon Snow and the Starks Are Not Related, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21728695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: It's New York City. It's New Year's Eve. It's the most boring party he's ever been to. And Jon can't hold back any longer.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: sacred moments [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566055
Comments: 28
Kudos: 142





	silence, patience, anticipation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inejcrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inejcrows/gifts).

> Just a little thing I wrote for Gio.
> 
> (My darling angel, I hope you feel better soon. I love you a lot. Maybe these words will give you some comfort. Take care 💜)
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy!

Jon likes to think he’s a cool guy.

Collected.

Composed.

In control. 

A man in charge. Not only of things around him, but of himself too, of his emotions. Never lets them get the best of him. Never lets them cloud his judgment. And that used to be true.

Until he meets Sansa Stark.

Six months ago, probably the most boring office party he’s even been to in his life, also the first one he attends at his new job working for  _ the  _ Ned Stark, the man who has it all, the father of one of his old college mates, the only one who can teach Jon all he needs to know so that himself can also have it all, the one who’s working even through the party, always making connections, talking business, getting sharper by the minute, and Jon knows he should be doing the same.

But the boss's daughter is there and she’s the most fucking gorgeus woman he has ever seen.

Sansa “thigh high boots, black strapless dress, left my red blazer draped over some random chair” Stark. All red hair, blue eyes, creamy white skin, freckled shoulders, longest legs a man has ever laid eyes on. Standing out in the crowd, a rose in the middle of the most boring men with their black-blue-grey suits. Laughter like the trumpets from heaven, the prettiest and most charming smile, the softest handshake when he is introduced to her. Robb’s baby sister, Ned Stark’s perfect daughter, a spoiled little thing, taller than him in those boots, the faint scent of lemon and roses when she brushes a hand through her hair and it’s all it takes for him to break. For him to abbandon all reason and spend the entire fucking party watching her, forgetting all about his mission to talk business, to learn from the best, mesmerized, while she drinks too much and laughs too loud and tries to enjoy herself if only a little during this long wretched night.

He ends up taking her home. She can’t possibly drive like this and her father is so very concerned with her getting an uber alone and Jon just offers. He can take her. It’s fine. No bother at all. And Ned is oh so grateful and Robb pats him on the back with a jokingly  _ no funny business  _ and he just smiles and nods because funny business is all he could think about all night and he knows he’d be fired if the two of them knew. Possibly dead. No, probably. Yet he can’t help it, not when she’s the sweetest and the loveliest, her little gasp when she trips on her way to the elevator making him want to push her against a wall and have his way with her until she’s gasping like that for other reasons entirely and he could  _ swear  _ that the look she gives him when he drops her off at her fancy Upper East Side apartment is a plea for him to just come upstairs with her.

Which he, of course, doesn’t answer.

She’s the boss’s kid, Robb’s baby sister, heir to half a fortune, such a delicate pretty thing and he could never have her. Even if he really, really wants to. Even if he knows he could make her let out the prettiest of gasps with just the right amount of  _ pressure _ . But he only bids her goodnight, goes home instead, takes himself in hand and comes, hard and fast, urging his mind to drop this, to let it go, to regain his focus, his composure.

If only he knew.

Six months later and it’s hell. Actual fucking hell, now that she’s around all the time. A girl like her in an office like theirs? She stands out so  _ damn  _ much, and he makes it his mission not to look. Not to give her the time of day. Not to let himself be caught by whatever game it is she’s playing, whatever it is she wants. He can’t screw this up, no matter how much he wants,  _ needs,  _ to have her.

Of course he notices how she lingers around, so very helpful, how she comes to every fucking social gathering, how she always talks to him in a tone lower than normal. It drives him mad. He keeps it hidden. His want for her, his need for her. Also his terrible jealousy, at anyone who even dares to eye her, and there’s a lot of them. Few who approach her. Even fewer who actually engage. Like that creep Petyr Baelish, who always makes it his business to touch her - her hand, her elbow, her back - whenever he’s around at some social event. A rat, a dirty rat, and Jon wants to swat him away from her but why would he? That would betray his cool, his calmness, his control. He can’t, won’t risk it, won’t let himself do it.

Until it’s New Year’s Eve and she’s all sparkly golden dress, back exposed, legs going for miles and miles and miles and he has to force himself to talk to  _ everyone _ at this hellhole of a party before he takes her by the hand and then  _ takes  _ her. Yet Petyr fucking Baelish gets too bold, too close, hand gets too low and there’s no more cool, no more composure, no more control, there’s only Sansa and the immediate urge to  _ take her away _ .

Five long strides and he's next to her, doesn't care who sees, doesn't care how it makes him look, doesn't give a single fuck about the surprised look on the rat's face.

"She's not alone."

Surprises himself, how cool he sounds. Collected. In charge. So very different from how he's feeling inside, different from the fire burning in him, from the need he has to take her hand right now and be gone from here.

Petyr's face is all shock and annoyance and Jon doesn't dare to look at her. Stares back at the rat, tells him off, then finally offers his hand to her, still collected, still in control, face showcasing confidence while his mind races to decide where they’ll go. His hand burns when she laces her fingers with his, his heart accelerates, and he knows what he needs. A smoke. Something to calm him down. To help him think straight.

The balcony.

That's where he takes her, that's where he wraps his jacket over her, protecting her, covering her up, preventing his eyes from wandering too long but still, they do. Her hair is soft on his skin when he lifts it up from under the jacket, her body shivers when he rubs her arms, she looks so beautiful under the city lights, her eyes desperate for him and he wants to give it to her, whatever she wants, whatever she needs but he won't do it. Can't do it. Won't break this rule, this last restraint of his.

The boss's daughter, Robb's baby sister. The prettiest girl he's ever seen, all biting her lower lip and blushing from his stare at her mouth, annoyed when he tells her she deserves better than rats like Baelish.

She deserves the very best.

He's not the very best, not in the slightest, he’s just a stray from Brooklyn who got lucky, a nobody, and yet he would give her everything and anything and he would sure as hell make her feel like the best woman alive.

Doesn't tell her that, of course, but tells her he doesn't have to like her wasting time with rats and dogs and things beneath her. Shouldn't, because who is he to have a say in this? No one. Just some guy. Some guy who deeply wants her and thinks she's perfect and is breaking all of his own rules and principles and life convictions just to be near her.

"Are you going to kiss me, Jon?"

She's so... infuriating, this girl of his. Except she's not his girl, not at all, but she sure sounds like she wants to be. And he wants her to be. His, all his, not just right now, not just tonight, but for a long time. For fucking forever if she'll have him. Because the thing is, during all his effort to stay away, to avert his eyes, to avoid her completely, he ended up doing the exact opposite. And now there's  _ feelings  _ and maybe that's why he's breaking his rules, maybe that's why he's leaning in closer and stroking her hair, caressing her back, pressing his lips to her when he knows damn well he shouldn't. 

She's Sansa Stark, boss's perfect daughter, Robb's baby sister, and she kisses him like he's a breath of fresh air after almost drowning and he could drown in her. He might as well, with the way their lips move and their tongues meet and he can't get enough of the sweet taste of her mouth. Wonders what her cunt tastes like. The overcoming need to have her right here, right now, and Jon uses every bit of restraint still in him to pull back.

"You're killing me with this dress, did you know that?"

He knows she knows, he knows that she planned it, has known it from the moment she set foot at the party, looking like a real goddess, like all he would have wished for Christmas if he dared. Still, when she says it, his heart swells.

"I wore it just for you."

He's never heard her like this, this Sansa, so breathless and needy and desperate, so vulnerable, so  _ his.  _ It's madness, what she does to him. His cock already half hard even before she confesses she wants his attention. His hand full of her ass, no control left, no coolness, no composure, just plain want in his mind, his body, his soul. Want and need, for her, for Sansa. Sansa, Sansa,  _ Sansa. _

His girl.

The world explodes around them.

They miss the countdown, but it doesn't matter. Her father will be wondering where she is, her brother will be wondering where  _ he  _ is, but Jon only sees the gorgeous girl with the backless golden dress,  _ his  _ gorgeous girl with the backless golden dress, and he keeps on kissing her until his lips hurt, until the world is quiet, until she makes that little gasp he was so desperate to hear again and he knows he will do anything to keep on making her gasp like this.

Jon likes to think he's a cool guy.

Collected.

Composed.

In control.

A man in charge. And that used to be true.

Until he meets Sansa Stark. 

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't sleep once again and kept thinking about this. It's short but maybe there's more to come? Who knows. Let me know what you thought!
> 
> As always, English is not my first language and this work is unbetaed, so please excuse any mistakes.
> 
> I'm @sansaravenclaw on tumblr if you ever wanna chat 💜
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Xxxxx


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